Snoring and Dirt Laundry
by Ashvarden
Summary: HarryViktor slash. Just your average morning in the lives of our favorite celebrities.


**Snoring And Dirty Laundry**

The first thing Viktor registered upon waking was the fact that something heavy was draped over him, pinning him to the mattress he was lying on.

Hesitantly, he opened his eyes, then squeezed them shut again under the sudden deluge of light that assaulted him. With a quiet groan, he pushed himself up on his elbows as best he could--which wasn't much when you took into account the fact that something heavy and soft was plastered to his torso, making it somewhat difficult to move.

Looking down, he got a face-full of soft raven hair, and just like that, everything came rushing back to him.

It would've been very easy to think that the raven-haired youth was asleep, but at that moment his eyes flickered open, awakened by all the unnecessary movement from his human pillow.

"Morning," the younger man yawned, rolling off of him and stretching, cat-like, in an attempt to wake himself up more.

Viktor couldn't resist smiling as he watched the lean sixteen-year-old practically stumble out of bed, still trying to force his body to catch up to his brain in the coordination department.

Suppressing a yawn, he lay there for a moment before reluctantly following suit.

He certainly wouldn't have minded sleeping in a bit longer, but now that he was up, he might as well stay that way. Inching his way to the side of the bed, Viktor lay down on his stomach and watched the younger man dig through the closet in a vain attempt to find some clean clothes.

As if he'd sensed that he was being watched, Harry glanced up from where he was trying to find a pair of matching socks and shot him a somewhat dopey smile. Apparently Viktor wasn't the only one still half asleep.

The younger man finally found what he was looking for, holding up the only slightly wrinkled T-shirt triumphantly. "Would you look at that, not even any stains on it," he said brightly, like that was some sort of big accomplishment.

"Mmhmm," was the only reply, but when coupled with an amused smirk, it said a lot more than that.

Spying the expression on his lover's face, Harry stuck his tongue out and threw the dirtiest sock he could find in the other man's direction. Dodging it by rolling to the side, Viktor raised an eyebrow in challenge.

Harry took the bait, dropping the shirt and picking up a sweat-stained wife beater. He held it up threateningly, and when the other man looked unimpressed, he chucked it at him. This time Viktor wasn't fast enough to avoid it, and the disgustingly soiled garment landed on his head. With a stifled yelp of disgust, the older man snatched it off and threw it back.

"Vot vos that for?" he pouted, trying for plaintive and only managing pathetically disgruntled. Catching the other man snickering at his attempt, he made a face and _finally _got out of bed. Swinging his legs around, he planted them on the floor and stood, stretching his sleep-stiffened back muscles.

In lieu of getting dressed, he grabbed boxers and pajama bottoms off the floor and put them on, one leg at a time.

Harry went with the longer but ultimately better option, decking himself out in jeans and a T-shirt. He didn't bother with socks, though, and ran his hands through his eye-length hair instead of wasting time and effort on brushing his hair. He then wandered down the hall to the kitchen, where Viktor was trying (and ultimately failing) to make toast.

Slumping against the counter, Harry raised an eyebrow at the taller man and asked, "Are you okay? You seem kind of out of it."

"I'm fine," was the somewhat terse reply. "Just tired."

He certainly looked it; with his hair mussed up the way it was and his eyes half-closed, he looked about ready to go back to Lalaland.

Shooting Viktor an exasperated look, Harry took the butter knife out of the ebony-haired Seeker's hand and prodded him into walking in the general direction of the living room.

"Why don't you go lay down? I'll take care of this," he murmured, urging the other man to lie down onto the couch. Viktor relaxed into the padded leather, curling onto his side as his eyes drifted closed.

He was asleep almost instantly, his muted snores seeming much louder than usual as they reverberated through the room. Shrugging it off, Harry walked back into the kitchen and finished the toast.

He ended up eating it alone; Viktor didn't wake up for another three and a half hours.

**AN: Short, I know, but I wanted to write something domestic-y and this little plot bunny refused to turn into anything longer. :) Let me know what you think of it!**


End file.
